The ground trembled.
Dust rose in the distance as the golem legion advanced across the plains. Each step was thunder, each synchronized movement a declaration of war. The mage golems carried staves that glowed with runic fire. The artillery units bore cannon-arms that pulsed with restrained mana, like stars caged within steel. The single-shot assault golems marched in unwavering ranks, their charging cores humming like a heartbeat of iron.
At their head rode Kael, cloaked in black, a silver-edged mask concealing his face. His horse's hooves struck in perfect rhythm with the metallic cadence behind him, as though the dungeon master and his army were one.
From the watchtowers, soldiers froze at the sight.
A wave of steel and stone stretched across the horizon. Panic surged.
"Enemy attack!" a guard cried, his voice cracking as he rang the bell. The alarm boomed across the city, bells clashing in frantic rhythm.
The walls bristled with spears and bows, trembling hands gripping weapons.
But then—another voice rang out. Clear. Steady. Commanding.
"Hold the line!" The youngest princess strode onto the battlements, her crimson cloak catching the wind. Her voice cut through fear like a blade. "These are not foes. They are allies. Reinforcements sent by a friend."
The soldiers hesitated, confusion warring with disbelief.
And then, as the colossal forms came closer, their shapes became clear—golems. Rank upon rank of them, their formation flawless, their steps unyielding.
Whispers rippled through the soldiers and citizens gathering at the gates.
"Golems…? Who commands such an army?""No noble, no guild could ever field this…""Who would send us this kind of strength?"
The gates creaked open slowly, cautiously.
And in marched the legion.
Kael entered the city astride his horse, black cloak trailing behind him like the wings of a raven. His mask glinted in the sunlight as the golem army followed, saluting with mechanical precision. The ground shuddered beneath their steps as they filled Greyspire's streets, lining in perfect order as if the city itself had been reforged into a fortress.
The soldiers and citizens stood in awe. For the first time, they believed the city might withstand what was coming.
But the storm was closer than hope could fully take root. Scouts reported that the enemy army was half a day away—an ocean of steel and banners, numbering more than one hundred thousand.
Greyspire's people felt both relief and dread. Reinforcements had come, yes—but would even this iron legion be enough?
Far away, within the marble halls of the royal capital, the atmosphere was starkly different.
Prince Elric lounged on his chair, a smirk on his lips, as reports flowed in. Beside him, Arlen stood with calm satisfaction, his eyes glinting like sharpened knives.
"No reinforcements are to be sent to Greyspire," the prince ordered, his voice laced with venomous certainty. "Let that border city collapse. The Empire's blade will carve away a weakness, and we shall be rid of those who cling to false hopes."
Arlen bowed slightly. "As you command, my prince. Their cries will only strengthen your claim to necessity when the kingdom falters."
The court nodded along, sycophants eager to please.
But then, a messenger burst into the chamber, pale and breathless.
"A message—from Greyspire!"
The scroll was unrolled before the prince's eyes. His smirk faltered.
The words were simple, but they struck like a hammer:
"The city stands. Reinforcements have arrived. We will not fall."
The chamber froze. The prince's hand crushed the parchment until it tore, his nails digging into his palm.
"What…?"
Arlen's expression twitched, the first crack in his composure.
And for the first time, unease crept into their hearts.
Greyspire had not fallen.
It was preparing to rise.
The streets of Greyspire still buzzed with awe as Kael dismounted his horse and was led by the sisters to the city's war hall. The banners of Greyspire hung heavy, but beneath them sat weary captains and commanders, their faces lined with worry from sleepless nights. The bell towers outside had quieted, but tension clung to the air.
When Kael entered, the masked man drew every gaze like a storm given form. He did not sit. Instead, he walked to the great table where maps of the region lay scattered. His gauntleted hand brushed over them once, steady, before he spoke.
"First—we secure the city." His voice was calm but carried iron in it. "The walls are your heart. The streets, your veins. Lose one, and the whole will collapse. My legion will stand here—" he pointed to the outer western gate, the closest path of the incoming army—"and here." His hand swept over the southern breach still under reconstruction. "Two lines, interlocked. Mage golems at the rear, artillery positioned behind the wall towers, single-shot golems cycling between rest and fire to prevent depletion."
The room was silent as his words painted an image more orderly than anything the Greyspire generals had managed in weeks.
The eldest princess leaned forward, her eyes fixed on him. "And the people?"
Kael turned slightly, the silver glow of his mask catching candlelight. "Your citizens will be your strength. Fear is your enemy. You must keep them moving—fortifying, carrying supplies, tending wounds. My company has already announced food at one bronze. Extend that to grain storage within the walls. Make every man and woman feel they hold a blade, even if their hands never touch steel. That is how cities endure."
The youngest princess exhaled, a faint smile crossing her face. "You speak like one who has stood through sieges before."
Kael did not answer.
Instead, he placed a sealed crystal on the table. "Communication. You will relay orders through this. Only those of your blood may touch it without backlash. Guard it well."
For the first time, Greyspire's commanders exchanged glances—not of despair, but of reluctant hope. The masked man's presence made the impossible seem… possible.
While Greyspire braced for war, the dungeon pulsed with life. The twin dragons curled in their den, their elemental auras flaring and merging in waves of fire and frost, practicing their synchrony under Pyraflame's guidance. The lizard wrestled with the carcass of a lesser wyvern, devouring it chunk by chunk, while the frost guardian mirrored him in discipline, refining breath into lances sharp enough to pierce steel.
But Kael had chosen: none of them would leave yet. They were still weapons in tempering, not yet ready to be revealed. For now, the city would see only the steel of the golem legion.
Night cloaked the horizon, and firelight flickered across an endless sprawl of tents. The enemy commander, a scarred man with eyes like molten iron, sat at a crude wooden table. Before him, scouts knelt and poured out reports.
"The villages near Greyspire are stripped clean," one said. "No grain, no corn, not even root vegetables. It's as if they vanished. All we found were empty barns and fields salted with false trails."
The commander's jaw tightened. "And livestock?"
"Only a handful of boars and wild bears. Barely enough for a day's march, let alone a siege."
The strategist at his side adjusted his glasses, voice flat. "Our supply lines are stretched thin. Greyspire may be weak in stone, but if we starve in its shadow, their walls will stand longer than our stomachs."
The commander's hand slammed the table. "Then we will not starve. We will strike. Full force. A storm that leaves no stone of Greyspire standing. Even if they've stripped their land, they cannot strip their walls."
The camp rumbled with approval, the bloodlust of soldiers readying for slaughter.
But then—hoofbeats thundered outside. A messenger stumbled into the tent, mud streaking his armor, his face pale.
"A dispatch… from the capital!" He held out a sealed scroll.
The commander broke the wax with impatient fingers. His eyes scanned the words.
The strategist leaned closer. "What does it say?"
The commander's lips twisted into a snarl.
"It seems," he said slowly, "that Greyspire has received reinforcement… from another source. Not the crown. Not the prince. Someone else."
The tent grew cold, the campfire shadows suddenly long and uncertain.
"Who," the strategist asked carefully, "could field enough power to defy the capital's will?"
The commander's gaze lingered on the words, but he gave no answer.
Outside, the vast army stirred, restless. Their prey was no longer as simple as they believed.